


When it becomes too much

by Miishae



Series: Protective!Tommy [2]
Category: Video Blogging RPF, mcyt
Genre: Anxiety, Autistic Wilbur Soot, Gen, IRL Fic, Older Sibling Wilbur Soot, Panic Attack, Protective TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Sensory Overload, Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, not really irl but sorta close, sbi family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:16:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29661633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miishae/pseuds/Miishae
Summary: Wilbur isn't feeling well, Tommy comes to help.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: Protective!Tommy [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2179632
Comments: 5
Kudos: 235





	When it becomes too much

**Author's Note:**

> CC!Wilbur mentioned once that he thinks he might be autistic. I enjoy this idea, so I've been taking it and running with it. As someone who deals with sensory overload every now and then myself, I wanted to portray that in writing as a way of coping, because Wilbur is autistic and you can't change my mind.
> 
> This will contain details of sensory overload. This is just a small bit of what I myself have gone through, so please read at your own risk. Set IRL, where they stream and play Minecraft and write music, but it's still the characters, rather than the actual people. SBI is a family unit and they live together.

It’s not like his head is pounding with unchecked pain, it’s quite painless up there this time. Still, the computer screen is too bright, the humming of his computer, too loud. The lights in his room are even brighter than the screen, somehow. Everything is mixing together in one uncomfortable din of _too much._

By all rights, he feels as though his head has no business not _headaching._ This should be earning himself a migraine, and Wilbur wants to feel one. A migraine would make sense, it would feel natural in this.. whatever _state_ this is. The lack of any actual pain is just calling to attention the pain he's feeling anyway.

It really doesn’t help that he’s in the middle of a stream, and Tommy’s voice is laugh-screeching in his ears, all over another stupid joke Tubbo made. Tubbo’s jokes aren’t stupid, normally Tubbo is hilarious but, this time everything feels forced and not funny. Tubbo isn't funny, Tommy isn't funny. They're both too loud. Even just staring at their Minecraft skins makes them too loud. If he could find a volume button for an image on screen, he'd be muting them both.

“Wilbur, you haven’t said anything for a couple of minutes, you good man?” Tommy’s character turns to face his, and Wilbur realizes then that he’s been frozen in place. He doesn't know how long he'd just been sitting there, but Tommy calling out to him like this is embarrassing. Feeling his face warm up, he glances over at his chat to see it flying by. People are mocking him, people are saying he looks tired, and others are asking if he’s okay.

“I think I’m going to end stream,” he forces himself to say. To his own ears, he sounds really out of it. “I feel awful suddenly. I’m sorry Tommy, I know-”

“It’s okay Wil. Go take care of yourself.” Tommy sounds… unusually calm. Does he know what Wilbur is feeling? It’s unlikely, even though he’s only a couple of rooms over. Tommy barely pays attention to much of anything around him when he's streaming. He probably doesn't even care right now.

Wilbur doesn’t respond to Tommy, but he does mute himself and switch off of Minecraft, focusing the screen on his camera. In his camera, he takes a minute to try and adjust his physical appearance. His shirt looks rumpled, his hair is messy, and his face is a lot more pale than normal. Even his own image is too loud. “Sorry chat, I know it’s only been a half-hour, but I’m going to call it. Thanks for tuning in today, I’ll be back at some point in the future.”

With a forced smile and a wave goodbye, he ends the stream. He waits for his chat to trickle to a crawl, before ceasing all conversation as people migrate to other streamers. He realizes he didn’t even raid anyone. Probably not important this time.

He sits in his computer chair far longer than intended. Even with his computer shutting down, he can still hear the hum. The lights are still too bright, and now Wilbur just feels wrong. It’s hard to tell what the source of _wrong_ is, but he’s rubbing at his arms and breathing way too fast. His arms feel too itchy, too tight, and he’s now realizing his skin itself is uncomfortable. Wilbur pokes at it, before rubbing more frantically. There's a roaring in his head that's screaming about how everything is a mess, he's a mess and the roaring is blurring his vision and squeezing him in a bubble that's too small, making his very skin feel like something intrusive that he can't get rid of. He can’t take it off, he can’t… take it _offtakeitofftakeitoff-_

“Wilbur?”

Tommy’s voice is interrupting him, far too quiet above the roaring in his head. Wilbur jerks his head to the side, trying to get away from that pounding racket that is his brother’s voice. It should be soothing against the chaos in his brain, but it's just another loud noise that's causing him _pain_. Is he whimpering? He doesn’t know what the noises coming out of his mouth are, only that he’s panicking, he’s spiraling, everything is too bright and too loud and too close and-

“Wilbur!” Tommy’s fingers are prying at his own, peeling them away from reddening skin. The minuscule relief that comes with that action is forgotten about when Wilbur recoils, letting out a dry sob as the very touch from his brother sends waves of pain up and down his body. Not actual pain, but more of that same, _stupid_ wrongness.

“Tommy, don’t,” he chokes out. “I’m-”

Will Tommy understand? Will Tommy help him fix the wrong? He wants to curl up against his younger brother, to feel some sense of relief from everything happening around him. His anxiety is kicking in too, making him want to cry even harder. There's no relief, not when his own brain is kicking him down and making him feel so awful; where every touch is hurting him.

“Oh.” Tommy lets go and backs up. Wilbur can see him doing this, and the distance immediately has him feeling better. It’s one less sensation that’s being thrown at him. Then, the lights are off. It’s another sensation gone, but it’s not an immediate fix. Wilbur wants to curl up on the floor and wail in relief and agony, but he can’t move from his chair. Even the chair feels wrong. The clothes against his skin feel wrong.

“Where’s your weighted blanket?” Tommy asks. He’s whispering, his voice is far too quiet and soothing, and suddenly, instead of being a source of agony, it’s a source of comfort, and Wilbur is latching onto it, trying to keep himself grounded. He needs to focus on what’s in front of him instead of the roaring painful chaos echoing around him. He knows the whispers won't be relieving for long.

“Dunno,” Wilbur returns. It's all he can bring himself to say. It's not much, but he's trying to point toward his closet anyway. _It's in there, please..._ Downstairs, he can hear the sound of a dish clattering in the sink. He hunches over, gripping his arms to try and keep himself from trembling. It’s not working. It’s especially not working because Tommy is forcefully pulling him away from the chair and toward his bed. He struggles weakly, letting out a half whimper, half sob. The contact is immediately dropped when he’d pushed into his bed, with his weighted blanket being dropped on top of him. Wilbur wraps himself up tightly, taking solace in the heaviness that settles over him. It's not the same heaviness he felt at his desk; this one is more soothing. Wilbur feels like it's actively blocking out everything that had been bombarding him earlier, including his brother's touches. Under here, nothing can hurt him. He doesn’t even feel the urge to rip himself out of his own skin as much. He can still feel Tommy's grip, but he resists the urge to rub at it. It's all in his head. _It's all in his head._

He waits for Tommy to say something to him again, just so he’d have an excuse to lash out or snap. Wilbur wants something to vent his anxiety on, but instead, he hears a fan being turned on for white noise. It's followed by the sound of his bedroom door closing. He pokes his head out with a frown, but he’s alone in his room, with the lights off. Oh.

Tommy had done more than Wilbur had expected.

Wilbur realizes his phone is still at his desk, but that’s probably a good thing. The screen would just send him into a panic attack all over again, and he really just needs to relax. Burying himself under the blanket, he focuses on the sound of the fan. It’s helping, somewhat. He can still hear Tommy faintly laughing, he can still hear footsteps from downstairs, along with faint yelling. Life in his house isn’t going to stop because his brain is stupid, but at least the sounds aren’t hurting as much anymore.

Closing his eyes, he lets out a shaky sigh. He’s finally starting to relax, trembling slowing to a crawl, much like his chat had done earlier. But now, with his body no longer so tense, and things no longer so bright, he can feel the faint beginnings of a headache forming.

For some reason, that brings the biggest bit of comfort he’s felt in minutes. Tangible pain is the easiest to deal with. Dealing with that makes everything else seem small in the long run, and that means he’ll be okay.


End file.
